Devil's Punch

“Do you think your divine blood might be reacting to the demon magick, in addition to the compulsion as consort?” No wonder he wasn’t himself.

“Probably,” he said, still looking at me as if he wanted to bend me over.

“Dial it down. We have work to do.”

My sharpness returned him to himself and he regained his composure, but his eyes retained that hungry edge. “I’ll find Greydusk.”

While they were gone, I used the facilities, freshened up, and found a change of clothes. These fell between my ornate robes from the Luren and the simple street garb the demon procured for me later. Though this outfit was all black, it had a satiny pattern imprinted on it so that it showed in each flicker of the light. I liked the knee boots that came with it. I almost felt like a queen, dressed like this.

Only if you intend on doing some killing, little human girl. Otherwise you’re not nearly elegant enough. Because I suspected it would irk Ninlil, I ignored her. Pretended I couldn’t feel her like a cancer in my brain or hear her insidious voice.

By the time the others returned, I had a headache from her shrieks.

For now, I was in control.

“How sure are you that the Hazo aim to make amends?” I asked Greydusk.

The demon’s gray skin paled, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing me. Her. “I could send a messenger. Discover their intentions.”

“That might be best.”

“We can’t spend too much longer here,” Chance said. “Or the other castes will get jealous.”

“An astute observation.”

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of this before. “Is there a palace somewhere? Or a royal residence the castes weren’t allowed to claim?”

“There is,” Greydusk replied slowly. “Likely to be in rags and ruins, however. It’s been…uninhabited since Ninlil left us.”

I was murdered, the demon queen raged. Murdered! And what did you fools do to avenge me after the angel ripped my power away? Nothing! You cowered in Xibalba and squabbled over scraps like this pitiful animal. She wrested enough control from me to cut her eyes at Butch, whom she wanted to kill for some reason.

“Then let’s make our intentions clear. I’m tired of running. Tired of hiding. Take me there.” The crack of demand in my voice, well, it came partly from me and partly from her.

Maybe that fusion she’d mentioned was already under way. Even as I loathed her, it was better than losing myself entirely. I would dig in and cling to it as long as possible, fight tooth and nail. I’d never resign myself to captivity in my own head. Power over demons ran on my father’s side of the family; that must count for something.

We marched out of the Dohan stronghold as we’d come. I kept my eyes straight ahead, and none of the lesser demons dared look at me long enough to detect a difference from the day before. I ignored them all, and that seemed to suffice.

Finally, I had a handle on the situation. I’d use my power, such as it was, to get the Hazo to set Shannon free. That was smarter than attacking the warrior caste. If I fought them, that would indicate that I saw them as a worthy foe. If I commanded them, they would kneel, especially if Greydusk read our circumstances correctly.

Outside the Dohan compound, we didn’t have a chance to arm up before they pounced. A flash of magick fell on me like a net. The queen howled her bootless fury, but I was already caught, an insect in amber. All around me, the air felt thick and slow. I couldn’t move so much as my fingertips.

“Corine!” That strangled cry was the last I heard from Chance.

I couldn’t even turn my head to see how he fared.

Complacent. I had listened too much to the dark lady in my head. To my detriment, I had forgotten the one lesson I’d learned as a child. There are always enemies. And now they had me. Greydusk had warned me there were factions who didn’t want to see the queen return. I had chosen speed over caution in reaching the Drinkers, and now my true foe had us.

A magician stepped forward, clad in midnight robes etched in bloodred sigils. His hair was long, twined in complicated plaits, and vestigial horns sprouted from his forehead. “Load them up quickly, before the snare wears off.”

This is the one who set the magus trap, the queen said. I recognize the stink of his magick. I will enjoy skinning him when I get free.

For once, I didn’t disagree. Too bad about the Vortex Greydusk had mentioned. Otherwise, I could call the Gorder to save us again once the spell failed. They couldn’t keep the snare alive forever with the queen working to dismantle it. I gave her the lead, knowing I had no hope of setting us free. But this time my world didn’t go dark. It was like I sat at her shoulder, watching. Still here. Still me.

I told you, she said. It needn’t be all or nothing. We can become…symbiotic.

My body and your magick?

Precisely.

I wasn’t ready to accede, but I was closer, and she had to know that. How many times had she made this offer? How many times could I be strong enough to decline? I tasted her triumph on the tip of my tongue. Do you know who’s got us?

Her displeasure flashed through me. No. These beasts belong to a new caste. No wonder they oppose my return.

I racked my brain—and then I made the connection. Greydusk had said only the Saremon could have created the magus trap; now the queen recognized the smell of their magick. Which meant they had tried to capture us once already. That knowledge didn’t help at the moment, but it might down the line. While I waited, helpless, a minion loaded my frozen body into the back of a cart. There, they bound me and sealed my mouth with a foul-tasting mixture. Then they stole my athame and the packs containing all my worldly goods…and Shannon’s. Just in case, I supposed. When the paralyzing spell wore off, I would kill them all for this.

And though the dark queen approved, it was my thought.

All mine.

They have Butch. The realization terrified me. He was small and helpless, despite his big heart. If anything happens to my dog—

Vengeance, Ninlil promised, though it was cold comfort.

At this angle, I couldn’t see anything but the sky. No way to judge how Chance fared, Greydusk or Butch, either. I just had Ninlil raging in my head, and for the first time, I understood her position perfectly. I took a mental step closer to the union she wanted. This life might not be so bad.

Whoever they are, they’ll pay.

The journey passed in a haze of white-hot rage. In time, the spell weakened, but not enough for me to do more than wiggle my fingers and toes. I was still helpless when more goons dragged me out. Adding to my sense of vulnerability, they blindfolded me and towed me like a statue for a while. I had no sense of direction, only the idea that we’d gone inside, from the cessation of the wind. A door shut somewhere behind us, reinforcing that impression.

At last, they removed the cloth from my eyes. I couldn’t speak with my lips sealed, and I had the horrible fear they intended to stuff and mount me. First, they would cut out my insides, fill me with sawdust, replace my eyes with blue glass, and then sew my mouth together for all eternity.

See the demon queen? I bagged her myself.

“You must be wondering about my intentions,” said a deep voice behind me.

For obvious reasons, I held still. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t turn to face him. I’d never felt so powerless in my life. Doubtless, that was exactly what they intended. So I waited for him to tell me more. Even Ninlil quieted, listening with a silence that burned with hate and the promise of awful retribution.

“The Saremon care nothing for politics. Nothing for the human realm either. But arcane power? We care a great deal about that. So we will use you in our experiments, of course.” The magician paused significantly.

I couldn’t respond. If I could have, he’d have died in a fountain of blood. I’d never wanted anything that much in my life, but I had no way to make it happen.

Not yet, Ninlil purred.

“You will serve us, Binder.” He gave the title a mocking inflection, probably because I was the one bound here. Then the Saremon spoke the words that nearly stopped my heart. “Just like your father.”

Death Match

The demon mage was lying. He had to be. My dad left us. Albie Solomon was probably selling used cars in Des Moines. The man who sang off-key in the shower, loved Panama hats and bowling shirts had no place in this world. None.

His blood runs in your veins, Ninlil whispered. That is his value. He too carries the Binder’s power.

“I imagine you have many questions,” the mage went on.

In fact, I did. Too bad my captor was a sadist and unlikely to sate my curiosity. I tried to melt his face with my mind, but it didn’t work. He circled in front of me then.

He smiled. “I shall not tell you my name, Binder, as that would give you too much influence over me.”

Yeah, the minute I learn your true name, asshole, I own you.

“But you can call me Oz.”

As in the great and powerful? I wondered if he knew that the real Oz turned out to be a weakling who hid behind a curtain. I’d thought my dad was that kind of guy, someone who couldn’t deal with his responsibilities, so he’d bailed. My mind touched on and skittered away from the idea that he was here somewhere, held hostage by the Saremon. Gods and goddesses, he had been gone since I was a kid—twenty years. Was it possible someone could survive that long in demon hands?

All my life, I’d blamed him for deserting us. I’d told myself it didn’t matter. My mother seldom talked about him after he left, but sometimes I’d found her staring out the front door with a wistful air, as if she expected him to come walking down the lane, years later. She’d loved him deeply; that much I knew.

Twila, a vodun priestess who ran most of the supernatural business in Texas, had told me, By the way, you’ve carried the weight of a lie your whole life. Your father didn’t leave. He was taken. At the time, I didn’t believe her. I hadn’t seen enough of the wider paranormal world then. I’d done my best to stay away from it. I didn’t want to learn or explore; I wanted to be normal.

Given my heritage and history, I understood now how impossible that was.

As if he saw my inner turmoil, Oz laughed. “Soon I’ll take you to the arena.”

Arena? My eyes must have asked the question, because he answered it. “You’ll choose which of your companions fights to the death for you. According to our records, Ninlil was fond of such spectacles.”

The Imaron, the dark queen counseled immediately. He has centuries of stolen skill to call upon and his drain will immobilize almost anything.

“Which one?” The mage mused. “Either way, it will erode loyalty, as your designated champion cannot help but realize you deemed him expendable.”

“But I’m not your queen,” I protested.

The mage whispered a spell in demontongue and energy sparked against my skin. “No. You’re not. I don’t even sense her. Has she not awakened, then? Did the Dohan get it wrong?”

“Duh. They’re not geniuses.”

“Alas, no. The Drinkers are not known for their mental acuity.”